


Twist and Shout!

by Beknown



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-17 11:38:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beknown/pseuds/Beknown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter goes back in time! But what to name him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue:

The Darkest of Dark Lords raised his wand on the baby boy. The One With The Power To Vanquish just sat there gurgling, not even acknowledging his impending death or the murder of his mother before his own two eyes.  
Without even a speech on how there is no good or evil (only power!), Voldemort cast the Killing Curse. It rebounded off the boy and shot back towards the Dark Lord, who didn't even have time to register the amazing feat of magic before he was blown to bits, as was the wall behind him. The house groaned, half the roof collapsed, and in the midst of the destruction, the Boy-Who-Lived vanished.

Chapter 1: Orphaned! Again, but for the First Time!

St. Brutus Orphanage was a quiet place, except during the day and often during the night. This was an odd night, then, for several reasons, one of which was the new baby. If you were to believe Paul- six years old, one of the orphans- the baby just appeared out of nowhere, but Mrs. Tate thought it much more likely that a distressed mother abandoned the poor boy in a moment of panic and Paul just couldn't see her. Maybe Paul needed glasses? That wouldn't do, the orphanage couldn't really afford much, and if Paul got a pair then everyone would want a pair even though they don't need a pair, and glasses break so easy so they would have to constantly get replaced and so no, it wouldn't do at all. But what struck Mrs. Tate as odd was the blanket- when was it even fashionable to have brooms and flying tennis balls sewn onto things? Kids these days!- and the bleeding scar on Harry's (at least that was the name printed on his onesie; Harry is as good a name as any) forehead in the shape of a lightening bolt.

The bleeding did eventually stop, though Mrs. Tate doubted it was because of anything she had done, and it was a very good thing too, as she was running out of clean cloth. The boy did need a last name; but what name to give an abandoned orphan? You would think she would know, but she didn't, or at least she forget. Mrs. Tate was rather forgetful, like that one time she tried making caramel for the kids as a summer time snack but let the water over boil because she had to go shoo away a cat- horrible pests!- and then completely forgot about the caramel in the first place, and by the time she came back to make her tea, the room was half filled with smoke and the pot was ruined. Good pots are hard to come by. Pot! Harry Pot! That's the boy's name!

No, that's a ridiculous name. Clock? Harry Clock? No, that's even worse. How about table? Harry Table. Harry Table. Harry Table. Mrs. Tate stopped trying to give him the name of household items and moved on to bigger and better things. Harry Mountain? Harry Sky? Harry Space? If only she knew more about the boy. Where did Paul even find him? She closed her eyes and imagined the tragic beginning of Harry's life. There was a woman- a beautiful woman, she corrected herself- face obscured by a hood. She was running through the forest, baby Harry held close to her chest. In the background, you could hear the loud bark of dogs and men shouting. She comes to a stop a creek. It's a dead end! “It's safer this way,” the mother coos. “You will never know, but this way is best.” A lock of hair drops as she bends to kiss Harry on the forehead. She takes the basket- wait, she didn't have a basket. Okay, she was actually running though the forest with baby Harry in a basket held close to her chest- and places it into the creek. With a soft push, the basket floats away down stream. Tears falling down her face, the mother hugs herself tightly as the barks and shouts of dogs and men draw closer.

Harry shifted in her arms and snapped her out of her thoughts. She walked over to a crib and carefully placed him down. Mrs. Tate covered Harry in a blanket as she mentally corrected the single error in the little story. The creak wouldn't be strong enough to carry a baby. Yes, fix that error and the story will be flawless. Easily fixable. Instead of a creak, it's a river. There, done. Just a matter of water. And as Mrs. Tate walked away, content at finally finding a last name, Harry Waters was born.


	2. A Tad Odd

Harry Waters was just a tad odd. Anyone could tell you that. Simon- age nine, orphan- would tell you that Harry smiles too much. Rosa-age eight, orphan- would tell you that Harry eats bugs. Simon would then say that only girls don't bugs, and Rosa would then punch Simon, and Simon would pull Rosa's pigtails and Harry would sit in the corner, smiling and eating bugs.

So when a tall, stern-looking woman in a dark robe walked into St. Brutus Orphanage asking for Harry Waters, Mrs. Tate was uncharacteristically wary. The lady- McGonagall, as she introduced herself- insisted that Harry did nothing wrong and was being offered a placement in a select boarding school in Scotland.  
“But why?”  
“Pardon?”  
“Why Harry? I'm not saying that he won't do well at your school-”  
“Hogwarts.”  
“Pardon?”  
“The school's name is Hogwarts”  
“Oh. So I'm sure he'll do fine- Hogwarts? That's a funny name for a school”  
McGonagall bristled as if personally offended, though Mrs. Tate saw no reason for it. People got offended for the craziest things, she thought. Why, just the other day, as-  
“It's been called Hogwarts for over a thousand years and we've had some of the finest pupils the world has ever seen!”  
“Name one.”  
“Albus Dumbledore!”  
“Who?”  
“Nevermind this, back to Mr. Waters. Where is he?”  
“Nevermind that, how do even know about Harry?”  
“Mr. Waters is a very special boy, and he popped up on our list, so to speak.”  
“But how?”  
“The screening process is a complex one, one that I am not intimately familiar with, now if you'll just let me speak to Mr. Waters.”  
So Mrs. Tate walked McGonagall to Harry's room, then muttered something about cooking potatoes and walked off. 

Harry was lounging on his bed, reading some worn Muggle book, when Professor McGonagall walked in. She gave him a good hard look, nodded, and then spoke.  
“Hello Harry, my name is Professor McGonagall.”  
“Hi, I'm Harry.”  
Things got off to a rocky start, but the witch kept going.  
“I am here to inform you that you have accepted to Hogwarts, a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”  
“Uh-huh.”  
She would persevere.  
“Do you have any questions for me?”  
“Like what?”  
Solid as a rock.  
“Like, when does school start?”  
“When does school start?”  
“The first of September.”  
“This year?”  
Not a Ravenclaw.  
“Yes, this year. The school itself is in Scotland, but there is a train that takes students there.”  
“I see.”  
“You do?”  
“No. Why take a train? If magic is real shouldn't there be a quicker way? Or is it a tradition? How can I know for real that magic even exists? Do I need to pay? Because if I do, this sounds an awful lot like a scam. If there is magic, how can you possibly know I can do it? How many students are there? How come I've never seen magic? Why does everyone say magic isn't real if it's real? Why are you dressed funny? What's the exact difference between Witchcraft and Wizardry? Is the school really called Hogwarts, or is that a joke?”  
McGonagall took a small step back.  
“The Hogwarts Express is part tradition, yes, but it also gives a chance for the first years to get to know each other. Yes there are quicker ways, but they are not nearly as pleasant or organized.”  
She then whipped out her wand, waved it, turned the wardrobe into a pig,and continued.  
“There is a fund for orphans who cannot pay, don't worry, all will be provided, though some things will have to be second-hand. There will be about sixty in your year, seven years overall...”  
She went on, but Harry was too busy watching the pig to pay any attention. He hoped all of his clothes were okay. Midway through her lecture on the history of Hogwarts, Harry pointed to her wand and asked, “Where can I get one of those?”


	3. Magic!

They were waiting behind a black-haired first year in Ollivanders for a quite a while before the boy- the creepy old man called him Snape- found a suitable wand. As he went to leave the store, Snape bumped into Harry, who stumbled onto the ground. Snape just sniffed in disgust and, without a thought for the boy he ran into, exited Ollivanders. Harry picked himself up and made his way to the counter. The old man looked at him funny before asking for his wand arm.

It was dark by the time Harry got back to St. Brutus. When he turned around to thank Professor McGonagall, she was already gone. He grabbed his trunk (which had W.G.P. etched on the side) and made his way inside. He passed by Saul - age sixteen, orphan- who immediately wanted to know why Harry had left with the strange lady. Saul was the same boy who, ten years ago, had found Harry in a flash of light and fire. His changing of his name coincided with the start of his bullying of Christian- age twelve, orphan.

Harry described all the wonders of the wizarding world: the magic barrier in the Leaky Cauldron, the mail-carrying owls, flying brooms, and the fancy ice cream shop. He was so engrossed in his story of the banana split with three flavors and chocolate syrup that he didn't notice the small of crowd that was forming around him.

Mrs. Tate smiled softly. Harry didn't see the effect he had on people. They flocked to him naturally, unknowingly. He would make a great politician one day, and she was glad that Harry didn't have a mean bone in his body, unlike some people she knew. Pastor Johns wanted to introduce her to a friend of his and went on and on about nice he was, how he was a pillar of the community, how he gave such a generous donation just last Sunday. Then when she finally agrees to see him for afternoon tea, all he talks about is his money. Honestly, if she had half as much as him, she would make real change in the world. Like make a law against loud cats. Why, just the other day, the ugliest cat imaginable attacked her, clawing at her ankles like some mad dog. She could just imagine its thought process. “Oh, look here, a perfectly respectable lady, beloved by her friends and family alike, having a leisurely stroll on her way to the market. You know what, I should ruin her day and ruin her stockings. And, while I'm tearing her to shreds -with absolutely no sense of propriety, I might add- I'm gong to make a horrible screech reminiscent of dying pigs slowly stabbed with hot needles.” The other thing worse in her book than loud cats are quiet cats. Those are the ones that trick you. You think, “Oh, what a pleasant cat. So unlike those loud and dangerous ones.” And then when you leave a bowl of milk out at night, you wake up the next morning with broken china and spoiled milk all over the floor.

Mrs. Tate came back down to Earth just as Harry Banished Lindsey- age fifteen, orphan- into the wall. Everyone was silent. A couple of kids went to see if Lindsey was all right. She wasn't, but that wasn't because of Harry. Lindsey seemed to think that since Harry could do magic, Harry had to do all the chores. Some kids had laughed at that, but no one thought she was serious. At least not until she shoved Harry when he had refused. She had never really liked Harry; she remembered a time when she was the favorite. Mrs. Tate would go on and on about how Lindsey was the lost daughter of Princess Margaret, born from a passionate love affair between her and Elvis Presley.

Anyway, this was Harry's first bout of accidental magic, or rather, the first time he noticed it. He wasn't really paying attention all those years ago when an angry couple came to the orphanage wanting to adopt a boy, and he had Disillusioned himself.


	4. Hogwarts Express

It was a happy Harry who made his way onto the Hogwarts Express. He was going to be a wizard! There were no words to describe how incredibly happy he was, how incredibly nervous he was, or how incredibly hungry he was. In his excitement, he had forgotten to eat this morning.

Harry dragged his beat-up trunk down the halls of the Express, looking for a seat, and entered a compartment with only one occupant: a young girl with red hair and bright green eyes. Harry immediately introduced himself.   
“Hi! I'm Harry!”  
“Lily. Lily Evans. Are you a first year too?”  
“Yeah! Isn't it great! A for-real magic school! I have a wand and everything! Did you know they actually rode brooms! Magical flying brooms! And cauldrons! And this one boy had a toad! Did you see the hats? Some people had on these tall, pointy hats!”  
Lily had put out her hand, but Harry was so caught up in his answer and didn't see it.  
“...and I got three scoops and there was chocolate sauce dribbled all over it and there was a banana sliced in half on either side...”  
Lily could only just nod along as the odd boy in front of her went on and on about Diagon Alley. She realized that this is how she must have sounded like to her parents. And where was Severus? The train was going to leave, and if he didn't make it on soon, how would he get to school? Wait! Lily saw him pass by the compartment. She quickly ran towards the door, swung it open, and went on after him.  
Harry had stopped a little while ago, and then just watched Lily lose herself in her thoughts, open her eyes wide in panic and then recognition, and race out the door. He said a quick “Goodbye!” but he doubt that Lily heard.

Now alone, he splayed himself out over the seat. Harry took out his wand and twirled it around; golden sparks flew out the tip. Suddenly, the door flew open with a loud bang! Tilting his head to get a better look at who entered, Harry saw a black-haired boy with a crooked grin plastered on his face.  
“Do you mind?” The boy said. “All the others are full.”  
“Nah, it's no problem.”  
“So, were you doing a spell?”  
“No. I don't actually know any.”  
“Not any? Not even one?!”  
Harry shook his head. The boy just grinned more, and pulled out his wand, a sleek, almost-black, piece of wood that lightly curved at the base.  
“Okay, this one my cousin taught me.”  
With that, he twirled and flicked his wand, and shouted with glee, “Flipendo!”  
The air from the top half of the compartment suddenly fell, pushing down Harry and his things with surprising force, and then shot back up, making Harry float for a second before finally falling back down with a loud thump.  
The boy was unaffected.  
“That was amazing,” exclaimed Harry.  
“Yeah, that's not the only one I know.”  
This time, he lunged forward and said “Relashio!”  
Bright red flew out of his wand and slammed into the wall with the window, leaving a slightly browned window and scorch marks on the wall.  
Harry's mouth dropped.  
“How are you so good?”  
“It's all about intent. Plus you need to know the words. Here, let me show you. Let me see your wand.”  
Harry took his out.  
“What is it made of,” the boy asked.  
“Cherry and Hippogriff feather, eleven-and-a-half inches.”  
Harry swished the wand a bit.  
“Swishy.”  
The boy snickered at what he thought was an excellent impression of Ollivander.  
“Okay, you have to have a firm grip on the bottom.”  
Harry slightly adjusted his hand, having absolutely no idea what he was doing.  
“Yeah, like that. Now just focus on what you want-in this case, imagine the air literally flipping things over. Then, just twist clockwise and flick up.”  
Fifteen minutes later their compartment was a total wreck. The wall paper had all been burned off, and the window was so warped that the outside was completely obscured. And then the trolley lady came in to sell them sweets.  
She took a good long look at the two disheveled kids in front of her and frowned.  
She opened her mouth to scold them, but the boy with the long black hair interrupted her.  
“Eight chocolate frogs, three Liquorice Wands, and a Fizzing Whizzbee.”  
She narrowed her eyes a bit more.  
“Please,” Harry added.  
Both boys gave their biggest, most innocent smiles.   
Three chocolate frogs (“They're alive!” Harry shouted. The other boy just nodded. “We are literally eating living frogs.” More nods. “And this is common.” Nod. “And no one thinks this is crazy.” A shrug, and “It's magic, it doesn't really have to make sense.”) and a Liquorice Wand later, Harry realized he hadn't introduced himself.  
Sticking out his hand, he said “Hi! I'm Harry, by the way.”  
“Sirius Black!”


	5. Hogwarts, A History

The rest of the train ride passed relatively quickly. A couple of other students floated in and out of the compartment; Remus Lupin – age 11, half-blood- was looking for a place to sit after his last compartment was flooded; Carol Bennet – age 11, half-blood- was seeking refuge from the horrible teasing of a couple of third-years; Gondoline Rowle -age 11, pureblood- was looking for her cousin, but stayed after she won the last Chocolate Frog in a game of Exploding Snap (“They explode!” Harry said); Amos Diggory- age 16, Hufflepuff prefect, pureblood – came in to tell them that they were approaching Hogwarts and that they would need to change into their robes.

Eventually, they arrived at the station. It was raining hard, but none of them could tell since the window was useless and the sound of rain falling on the train was masked by their chatter and laughter. Their compartment door opened, and they saw a pale, hook-nosed boy walk in. He sneered as he talked.  
“Do any of you know where Lily is? She's about my height, red hair, green eyes.”  
“Oh, Lily!” Harry said. “She was here, but that was a while ago. Like, right when the train started; she didn't stay for very long. I don't know why, though. I hope she wasn't sick.”  
As Harry rambled on, the boy's sneer slowly devolved into a scowl, and Sirius could swear that he heard him growl.  
“...and I'm pretty sure she would have at least said something if she was ill, so yeah. Oh sorry! Didn't even introduce myself. Hi! I'm Harry.”  
“Of course you are. Lily did mention an insufferable blabbermouth by that name.”  
The mysterious boy then quickly left, no doubt to continue his search for Lily.  
Carol was the first to recover. “Harry doesn't talk nearly as much as you, Gondoline. Much less you, Sirius.”   
Sirius huffed in protest.  
“Who was that?” Remus said.  
“You should have jinxed him, Harry.” Gondoline said. “And shut up Carol.”  
“I don't know any jinxes,” Harry said. “And I can't just shoot spells at people I don't like.”  
“Sure you can.” Sirius said. “Now, this spell will make black tentacles sprout his ears, but if you mispronounce it, it may turn you into a rabbit, so pay attention.”  
Sirius went on to describe the proper enunciation and wand movements as they all exited the train. They all groaned when they saw the heavy rain. Except for Sirius.  
“...then flick down. Remember, stress the a sound. Better to do it too much than too little. Look! That's him over there. Go!”  
With that, Sirius pushed Harry towards a black-haired boy, and before Harry could say how he doubted it was the same black-haired boy as before, Sirius was gone in the crowd of students. With one or two “Excuse me!” and “Sorry, coming through”, Harry found himself facing the back of a black-haired boy. Now, however, he was pretty certain that it was the same boy; no one else could possibly have the same greasy hair and be muttering “Lily” under their breath. And just as Harry turned around, realizing how silly he was being, making such a fuss over a simple insult, he heard the boy mutter, “Parents probably didn't even want him, probably knew he was an idiot at birth.”  
Harry spun around, whipped out his wand, whispered, “Flagicula” and disappeared into the crowd. 

Unfortunately, he disappeared in the wrong direction, opting to go in the opposite direction of the black-haired boy who was heading in the right direction. Harry somehow found himself surrounded by much older, much taller students and in front of chariots. It didn't take him long-well, not too long- to figure out that he wasn't supposed to be here. So he went around a chariot to double back and retrace his steps. Which is how he bumped into nothing. Or at least it looked like nothing. It certainly felt like something. Harry tentatively put his hands out to trace the invisible barrier. It was cold and scaly and wet and sharp.   
“And very oddly placed,” Harry thought. “Who would put a nothing-something in front of the chariots?”  
He backed away, confused and wary, but started jogging back.  
By the time Harry made his way over to the other first-years, most of the boats had already set sail. He saw Sirius wave wildly; the boy had obviously been trying to catch his attention for a while, and Harry dutifully made his way over.  
“I saved you a seat!”  
Not even the torrential rain could dampen Sirius' mood.  
Sirius scooted over, making room for Harry.  
Harry sat down and stuck his hand out to the other boy in the boat.  
“Hi! I'm Harry!”  
“James Potter!”  
James waited for Harry to give a last name, but Harry was completely oblivious and gave his hand to the fourth in the boat: a small blonde girl with pigtails.  
“Harry!”  
“Ione Ollivander. Nice to meet you, Harry. Do you know what House you want to get into?”  
“What are Houses?”

“Well,” Sirius said, unusually serious.“There are four of them: Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. Slytherins are the ambitious ones. Hufflepuffs are the fair ones. Ravenclaws are the bookish ones. Gryffindors are the brave ones.”  
“It's a flawed concept,” Ione said. “Who you are at eleven is not necessarily who you are at seventeen, much less who you are when you're fifty. Like right now, my goal in life could be to become filthy rich- the richest woman in the entire world. I would want for nothing, everything would be mine. A Pegasus-filled barn, entire wardrobes filled with Acromantula Silk robes, a mansion so big I would have to bribe the Wizengamot to re-zone a good portion of Norfolk, a-”  
James coughed rather loudly. Harry suspected it was a fake cough.  
“ But as I grow up, after a hypothetical, horrible life-changing event, I become a pioneer for justice. So, what House am I Sorted into? How could the Sorting possibly know what I will become? Or maybe we don't fundamentally change.”  
“That doesn't seem very likely,” Sirius said.  
“Then Houses only matter in school,” Ione said. “They in no way describe your personality.  
“ But what if by being Sorted into a particular House, with dozens of other like-minded kids, you aren't encouraged to change your state of mind, and you retain that original qualifier, be it bravery or ambition or whatever.”  
She went on for a while, debating against herself about the merits of the Sorting.  
The three boys started talking amongst themselves; Ione didn't seem to be slowing down.  
One thing still confused Harry, however.  
“And how do you know which House you get into?”   
A wicked grin covered James' face. “Trolls.”  
“Trolls?”   
Sirius rolled his eyes, but James ignored that and continued.   
“My father told me that they make you fight against a troll. If you win, you get into Gryffindor”

“Why?” Harry asked. “Is Gryffindor the best house?”  
James said “Hell Yes!” at the same time Sirius said, “Of course not.”  
They both glared at each other.  
“All the houses are basically same,” Sirius says. “Some people are just obsessed with the Houses. Like, they think since their parents where both in Slytherin, they have to be in Slytherin.”  
James nodded vigorously.  
“Same thing for Gryffindors,” Sirius added with a glance towards James.  
James stopped nodding.  
“That's not true! Only Slytherins care about that stuff!”  
So James and Sirius bickered about the Houses while Ione rattled on about the benefits of a rotating House system, and Harry just sat at the edge of the boat looking at the majestic castle that slowly drew closer.


	6. The Sorting

Everything was a blur. Harry remembered climbing stairs and waiting in front of doors a couple of times, but that was all. At some point a lady may have talked to him, but that could have easily been one of the suits of armor that lined the hallways. There was no way to be sure. He was sure, however, that he was in a Giant Hall and there was a singing hat; the boy next to him had confirmed this, though he clarified that it was the Sorting Hat.

The Sorting Hat sang a song, and Harry was sure it was a perfectly good song, but he wasn't really paying attention to the singing Hat. Of all the extraordinary things in the Giant Hall, the singing Hat was the most ordinary. A talented ventriloquist and a few hidden strings could do the same. The ever-moving, floating candles, caught his attention, though. Some slowly glided in lazy circles far above, but others zoomed around and would occasionally dip to eye-level; one in particular seemed to take great delight in bumping into the first-years.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a girl pull out her wand and tap it against her empty goblet. Nothing happened, and the girl seemed mildly disappointed. A boy sitting next to her whispered something in her ear, and the girl smiled. Harry didn't notice that the first-year next to him was called. He did notice that the girl's spell failed yet again. The boy whispered something else, and the girl nodded. He was so focused on the pair, that he didn't notice his own name being called. He wanted to know what they were doing! He was so sure it would be amazing!

Several things then happened in a very short period of time. A Professor McGonagall- age thirty-five, half-blood, Transfiguration Professor and Head of Gryffindor House- shouted “HARRY WATERS” so loud that the magically re-enforced windows shook. Harry jumped in surprise and looked at the irate lady standing next to the shabby hat and thus missed the supreme shock that was etched on the two students' faces.

Later, no one could say what actually happened. A few had seen the two students spelling the goblet, but no one had seen the candle that flew towards the pair. A few would remember how the goblet suddenly caught on fire, but no one would remember whose name McGonagall had shouted just beforehand. Everyone knew, though, that fire spread across the Ravenclaw table so fast that Dumbledore barely had time to contain it. Everyone saw animals in the fire, but only a few knew their meaning.

The professors took immediate action. They all had their wands pointed at the table, muttering spells under their breath. The fire roared for a few precious seconds, and the Ravenclaws were scared stiff. Just as suddenly as the fire came, it ended. Dumbledore instantly Vanished the charred table and Conjured a new one.

The Hall was silent for a moment, but then the chattering began. It almost covered up McGonagall's “Harry Waters”, but Harry heard it, walked up,and put on the Hat.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”  
“I'm sorry? I don't know? Is this a riddle? Doesn't sound like a riddle.”  
“Not ambitious, not very clever -”  
“Hey! I'm plenty clever, Hat!”  
“-but bravery, ah yes! Very brave indeed. And reckless, too.”  
“Why are you being so mean? I don't insult you.”  
“Not a lot of common sense, and no exceptional desire to learn.”  
“Well, you're just an ugly hat. A blind man probably made you.”  
“A fair bit of loyalty in here, and a good sense of justice.”  
“Justice? Where are you getting this from?”  
“Your mind.”  
“Well stop it.”  
“How else am I to Sort you?”  
"I don't know, how did you Sort the other kids?”  
“The same way.”  
“Oh,” Harry said. “I suppose it's fine, then.”  
“Better be...”  
“Wait, wait, wait.”  
“What?”  
“How important is my House going to be on my future.”  
“Oh Merlin, not another one.”  
“And Ione said something about being encouraged to retain the same state-of mind.”  
“Please stop.”  
“So wouldn't it be better to put us in the House whose qualities we lack?”  
“No.”  
“Why? Oh, because then we would still be surrounded by the same type of people. I see.”  
“Good, now if that's all-”  
“But you could sprinkle a few students into the “wrong” House. That way students are surrounded by different types of people.”  
“I could have sworn you were done.”  
“Might as well get rid of the entire House system while you're at it. Just Sort us by year!”  
“Then I wouldn't be Sorting at all.”  
“Oh, but this is a school.”  
“...Yes?”  
“So to foster healthy competition between the students, we separate them into basically arbitrary Houses.”  
“Who is this we?”  
“So the House system should stay.”  
“Good. You're done. Finally.”  
“This is where you Sort me.”  
“Shut up.”  
“People are probably waiting for you to Sort me.”  
“No one cares about your Sorting.”  
“That's kind of rude.”

But it was also true. Everyone was talking about the fire. The Ravenclaws had gotten over their fear and were trying to figure out how it had happened; two of them were trying very hard not to be noticed. The Gryffindors were either trying to coax answers out of the Ravenclaws or trying to start their own fire. The older Slytherins were whispering amongst themselves, and the younger ones forwent all decorum and were shouting at each other. Hufflepuffs all had their wands out and were spraying water on all the silverware. The teachers followed Dumbledore's lead and sat in stunned silence.

The Hat spoke first.  
“You know I know what you did, right?”  
“What?”  
The Hat didn't answer, and instead and shouted, “Better be...HUFFLEPUFF!”  
There was no thunderous applause coming from the Hufflepuff table. In fact, Harry didn't see anyone react. He made his way towards the table and sat next to another first-year whose name he couldn't remember. After a good bit of time had passed, Dumbledore realized that the Sorting was done and tapped on his goblet.  
“If I could have your attention, please.”  
The crowd went silent.  
“I know many of you must be hungry, so I'll just say a few words. Tuck in!”  
Immediately, the once empty plates filled with all sorts of foods. Harry went to grab a piece of chicken but saw Sirius waving at him from the Gryffindor table. Harry waved back enthusiastically. Sirius shouted something; Harry thought that it could have been “Still friends?” but the Hall was much too loud to be certain.


	7. Hufflepuff Harry

The entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room was hidden behind some barrels (“But no one must know!” the prefect said. Repeatedly.)

Harry thought that the inside was much more impressive; it was a sprawling mess of nooks and crannies. There were intricate carpets of yellow and black on top of a hardwood floor. Groups of couches and loveseats were placed around fireplaces and tables. His favorite part of the Common Room, though, was the giant hole in the middle. The prefect noticed him staring.  
“It connects to all of the dorms.”  
Harry looked a bit closer and saw stairs that bordered the giant hole and spiraled down.  
The prefect gathered all the first years who were starting to wander about.  
“First Years are on the fifth, this year.”  
With that, he led them down the stairs. Each floor was like the other. On the right of where the stairs landed, there was the giant hole, and on the left was a smaller version of the Common Room; there were two couches in front of a small fireplace. Small corridors in the walls appeared to lead to nowhere, but the prefect said that they went to the rooms. Straight ahead were more stairs that kept on spiraling down and down.

The prefect led them down to the fifth subterranean level and with only a, “Well, see ya,” left them to fend for themselves.

The fifteen kids (“No, fourteen,” Harry thought. “Wait, fifteen? Did I count myself?”) just stood there and looked at each other. They all seemed to be bothered by the silence, except for Harry who was deep in thought. A few times it looked like one of them was going to speak up, but no one ever did. After a minute, Harry exclaimed “Fifteen!”, and like that, the silence was broken.  
“Hi, I'm Carol!”  
“Hazel!”  
“Cyprian Bulstrode.”  
“Nice to meet you, I'm Oswald.”  
“Calvin.”  
The introductions went on for a long time; everyone shook everyone's hand and then shook them again because they forgot they already had introduced themselves.

“So,” Wendelin Fawley – age 11, pure-blood – said. “How exactly do we get to our rooms?”  
They all turned to the face the back wall that was riddled with tunnels.  
“Well,” Cyprian said. “We obviously have to go in those.”  
A few nodded in agreement, but no one moved.  
Hesitantly, Harry walked up to the tunnel closest to him and farthest from the stairs. All eyes were on him.  
“It's kinda dark,” he said.  
“Well go deeper, see what's inside!” Cyprian said.  
He took a few steps in, and seeing as the darkness didn't kill him, he took a few more. The tunnels branched at a few places, and eventually he arrived at a door. Harry knocked, but after there was no response, he opened the door and walked in.  
It was a room. It had a bed, a circular table, a wooden chair and a wardrobe. The walls were completely bare; there was not even a window. Harry sat down on the bed to see how comfortable it was, and it was divine. He sighed a happy sigh and ran out to tell the others. As he closed the door to his room, the door started glowing and so did the stones on the floor of the tunnel. He followed them and they led him back to the entrance. But everyone was gone. He saw the mouths of various tunnels slightly glowing and he could hear excited, but muffled, voices. It seemed like everyone had found a room.  
Harry turned around and went back to his room. At the foot of his bed was his trunk. How did it know where he was sleeping?  
“Oh right,” Harry said to no one in particular. “Magic.”  
There were candles now, that brought much needed light to the room. The bed had coverings and quilts, and a yellow and black carpet covered the floor.  
He lied down on his bed and closed his eyes.  
“Just going to rest my eyes for a bit,” he thought.

And then Harry woke up in the dark.  
It was pitch black and he couldn't see a thing.  
“Umm,” Harry said. “Lights, please!”  
Nothing happened.  
“Oh, of course!”  
Harry fumbled around for his wand and when he found it, he jabbed it in the air and said “Lights!”  
And nothing happened.  
Groaning and cursing under his breath, Harry got out of bed and made his way to the door. Or at least to where he thought the door was. He spent a while pawing at the walls until he found the door knob. As soon as he opened the door, the candles were lit.  
Frustrated, he made his way out the tunnels and up the stairs. The Hufflepuff Common Room was almost empty. A tall boy with dark hair saw him.  
“Hey aren't you supposed to be in class?”  
Harry recognized him as the prefect that had led them down.  
“Maybe? I don't know?”  
“Didn't you get your schedule at breakfast?”  
“Breakfast?”  
The prefect looked mildly exasperated.  
“Did you just wake up?”  
“Yes.”  
The tall boy rummaged through his bag for a bit and pulled something out.  
“Here, take this.” He said, handing Harry a rumpled parchment.  
“Thanks!” Harry said, and ran off to his class.  
“Do you even know where you're going?”  
Harry stopped right as he was opening the door to the Common Room. He turned around to face the prefect.  
“No.”  
“Read the parchment.” The prefect sighed. “What's the first thing it says?”  
“...Hogwarts.”  
“Further down”  
“... School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”  
“Give me that!”  
The prefect walked to Harry and grabbed the schedule out of his hands.  
“You have Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Earnest. In Classroom 3C.”  
Harry had no idea where that was, and the prefect sensed that.  
“It's on the third floor. Just look for other first years.”  
“Thanks!” Harry took back the parchment and opened the door.  
The prefect wanted to scream, but composed himself and politely said, “You're going to need to your books and quills .”

 

Harry ran through the halls of Hogwarts, and finally made it to class. He slowly opened the door and tried sneaking in, but everyone was staring at him.  
Professor Earnest smiled at the late Hufflepuff.  
“Just take a seat anywhere, my boy.”

Sitting at the closest desk, Harry looked around to see what everyone else was doing, but everyone was just waiting with a quill in hand. He sneaked a hand into his bag and fished around for a quill. The Professor twirled his wand, and a loud rustling of papers erupted in the class and parchment was flying towards the students.  
“You may begin.” Professor Earnest said. “No talking.”  
Harry turned over his parchment and immediately frowned. Was he supposed to know the answers to these questions? What in the world was a Face-Eating Iguana, and why did he have to know how to charm one? What is the most dangerous beast in the Forbidden Forest? Harry wondered how they could forbid an entire forest.  
Harry looked around him, and to his surprise, everyone was scribbling down answers.  
“Oh well,” Harry thought. “I'll just have to do my best.”  
And so he wrote down what little he did know. How best to charm an iguana? With crickets and other critters, of course. Most dangerous beast? Man, of course, is the most dangerous predator. (Harry mentally patted himself on the back for that one. “There's always a trick question on tests.”) How to survive an encounter with a Gorgon? Ample usage of reflective surfaces! Why does leaf of dittany not cure all ails? Because nothing can!  
By the time Professor Earnest asked for the test back, Harry had answered the majority of the questions, but not all. He saw that he wasn't the only one not to finish- a brown haired boy with a face full of freckles and a blonde girl whose hair was a mess of curls both had left a good portion empty.

They were shooed out of class, and in the hallway he saw a familiar face.  
“How do you do?” Harry said.  
“Did.” Ione replied.  
“I'm sorry, what?”  
“You meant, how did you do. It's okay, we're only children, we're bound to make mistakes here and there. Anyway, I did very well. Those questions were a bit easy, don't you think?”  
“Umm,” Harry said, drawing out the syllable for as long as humanly possible. “No?”  
“No?”  
“Yeah, no to pretty much everything you said.”  
Ione suddenly stopped walking.  
“What precisely do you mean by that?”  
“Well,” Harry said. “I meant how do you do, as in, 'how have you been?' And I didn't find that test to be particularly easy.”  
“Oh.”

“How did you know any of that stuff?” Harry said, at the same time Ione said, “I'm doing well, thanks. And you?”

It was the start to a beautiful friendship.


	8. Character Development

 

Time flew by. Harry ended up doing horribly on the test, red ink practically dripped from the parchment, but so had Sean Cooper and Hazel Wells. The three swore themselves to secrecy: no one could know; they wouldn't let anyone learn that they were, to quote Professor Earnest, “the stupidest three students Hogwarts has ever seen.”

 

The other classes were both fascinating and boring. The Charms professor was as short as the first years and just as excited about magic as the muggleborns, but they still hadn't cast any spells in his class. Everything seemed to be going well in Potions until Harry and his partner Wilfred Selwyn- age 11, pure-blood- blew up a cauldron. The boys were bickering over whose fault it was when Professor Slughorn- age 67, pure-blood- came up to them and asked what happened. Wilfred immediately started mentioning his “great-aunt Clorynthe, surely you remember her? She has such great things to say about her favorite professor” and how his “good friend Belsby, he was Head Boy a few years back, had mentioned that the Hiccoughing Draught could be bettered by simply adding a few counterclockwise turns”, and so the exploding cauldron wasn't really his fault. Nodding along, Slughorn turned to Harry.

“And you, my boy?”

“Uhh, I. I, uh, was in charge of cutting the flobberworms, sir.”

Slughorn inspected his work, and his polite smile turned into a grimace.

“Have you ever used a knife? Nevermind, it's obvious where the talent in this duo is.”

With a wave of his wand, he Vanished the burnt cauldron and moved on.

Since then, Slughorn didn't even seem to recognize Harry as a person, but Harry didn't consider the human armchair to be much of a person, either.

 

Sirius had partnered up with Harry for Herbology, which turned the most boring class (“It's okay I can say that. I'm a Hufflepuff”) into the funnest. They cast every spell they knew at their Backwards Daisies, which only grow during the night. Professor Sprout- age 40, pureblood- had scolded them and docked points, but that just led to the two boys being more discrete.

Today, Professor Sprout had instructed them to sprinkle Manticore Dung in a circle around the Daisies.

“For the whole class?” Sirius whispered. “I don't think I can make it Harry; I think I'm going to literally die of boredom. Go on without me. Tell my family I died a noble death. On second thought, don't.”

“Now,” Sprout said, continuing her lecture. “Can anyone tell me why we use Manticore Dung and not the more common Dragon Mud?”

“Flitwick taught us a new spell,” Harry whispered.

“Well go on then, try it”

“Rictusempra”

The extremely wilted Backwards Daisy gave out a sad, pitiful, and extremely loud croak.

The other students all looked at Sirius and Harry, while Professor Sprout pretended to ignore them.

“Because it is so much more _fertile._ ”

 

Halloween was fun. Someone had charmed the silverware so that if you touched them, your hands turned invisible, and once you let go your hands came back on different arms.

 

In early November, Harry was starting to get overwhelmed by his classes, so he finally took up Ione on her offer to study together in the Library. He had never actually been to the Library as he hadn't really seen the need, but Ione swore by it, saying how she'd “never felt more inspired or spiritually complete” than when she's there. And when he opened the giant doors, he could understand why. Books and more books lined the walls, lined the _ceiling_ , and stacks of papers raced to and from an oversized oak desk where a lady, dark hair tightly wound in a bun, managed to stare at all the students at once. She turned her gaze towards Harry, and it was the most frightening thing he had ever seen. Scarier than Paul -age 16, orphan- after the glass on his timepiece had cracked.

An undignified squeak left Harry's mouth as he turned around, ready to flee, but then a soft voiced called out, “Harry! You came!”

Ione grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him deeper into the Library.

“Go ahead, find us a table.” She took a comically large tome entitled “The Complete History of the Fungus” out of her rather small bag. “ I need to return a few books.”

As Ione walked towards the Librarian without an ounce of fear in her step, Harry made his way through the maze of shelves and tomes, when he ran into some other first-years. Five of them were sitting at a table, surrounded by a mess of ink and paper; dozens of books with dozens of bookmarks were open.

Well, Harry was always taught that politeness and promptness (and pie) were the two (three) most important parts of life, and so he waved and said, “Hello, I'm-”

Immediately, all five spun around, their attention focused solely on him.

“I know you,” a black-haired girl said. “You're the one who has yet to get a single question right in Defense Against the Dark Arts”

“That's... that's true, but Professor Earnest asks _really_ tough-”

“What are you doing here, Hufflepuff?” said a brown-haired boy with a crooked nose and crooked teeth.

“Sorry, we haven't been properly introduced, my name is Harry Waters”

“Get out of our Library, Hufflepuff”

“Oh, I'm sorry, sure, of course. Wait, no, sorry, I can't, I'm meeting a friend, Ione! You probably know her!”

Five identical blank faces stared at him.

“Because she's also a first year.”

“And right here.”

Harry spun around and was relieved to see Ione right behind him. With one hand on the hip, the other waving “The More Complete History of the Fungus”, Ione gestured towards the five students.

“Harry, meet some of my fellow Ravenclaws: Janet, Mary, Archibald, Andros, and John. Janet, Mary, Archibald, Andros, and John, this is my friend Harry.”

“Not this again,” Janet said (though it could have been Mary; Harry wasn't quite sure who was who). “You know some wizards are much better than others, Ione. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. Sit with us.”

She patted the empty chair next to her, but Ione didn't move.

“I think I'll go and study with Harry, thanks,” she said coolly.

“You've got to keep friendships in the House.” the crooked nose boy said. “Got to keep Ravenclaw academically pure.”

“He's my friend.”'

“That's not a very smart decision, Ollivander,” Janet said. “Unless you start making better choices, you'll be the ugly stain to your family name. You hang around with the likes of Hufflepuff, and you'll end up like him.”

Harry started to protest.

“There's nothing wrong about being like me!”

“Come on Harry,” Ione said. “Let's sit elsewhere.”

\---

 And Ione's help helped. He was still pants at Potions, and had yet to correctly answer a question in Defense, but his Charms work and Transfigurations had vastly improved. They met everyday, and almost never at the Library. Together, they explored the castle, finding off-the-beaten-path areas to practice spells and read without being disturbed by Ravenclaws. For a while, all was well.

  **\---**

 Harry was lost. And this time it wasn't his fault; how was he supposed to know that going up a flight of stairs would bring you down to the dungeons. A poorly lit dungeon at that. The few flickering torches that were floating near the walls barely illuminated the hallways. He was quite certain that this wasn't where Ione had wanted to meet, but a very friendly ghost had pointed Harry in this direction... and then ran off cackling. It was strange, surely, but Harry was in no place to judge what was normal for ghosts. Maybe he had remembered a funny joke?

A voice from the dark spoke. “Over here, quick!”

Harry whipped his head around, looking for the origin of the sound.

“Hurry! Before they come!” And indeed, Harry heard footstep approaching.

Blindly trusting the mysterious voice in the dark, Harry ran towards it and into a pitch-black alcove.

“Hello?” Harry said. “Where are you?”

A high-pitch giggle, followed by some whispered words were all the warning Harry had before he blacked out.

 

The first thing Harry noticed when he regained consciousness, was that his ankle hurt. The second thing was the incessant noise of chatter. The Hufflepuff quickly learned the reason behind the first: he was hung upside down by a thick rope attaching his ankle to a chandelier. The talking was harder to explain because he was completely alone.

“Where is that coming from? Are there invisible people hiding, don't they know that talking gives them away pretty quickly, unless they can't hear and so assume I can't hear, but I can! I can hear! I can hear them say-”

“Oh.” For a brief moment, there was blessed silence

“It's me. I'm the one talking, this is weird it's like my mouth is just moving by itself as if a ghost is pushing my lips back and forth and another, smaller ghost is inside my chest and pushing air out, and by their powers combined they are making me speak this is very uncomfortable I hope someone arrives soon...”

 It was quite a while until someone arrived.

Harry's voice was weak and scratchy, and still the magic made him speak.

“-hello I heard something please be a human this time and not a bloody cat they're awful at helping all they do is scratch and scratch and -”

A short figure turned the corner, and a wand was pointed in Harry's face.

“I got you now, Potter!”

“No, I'm not Potter, I'm Harry pleased to meet you, please get me down I don't know how I got up in the first place, I mean, I know it was magic but I don't -”

“Is this some sort of trick?” the other boy said.

“No no I swear it isn't, who would I want to trick? how would I even trick someone by being strung up like a lamb, are lambs even strung up? is that expression corr-”

The greasy-haired boy just watched him ramble with a curious expression on his face.

“You! You're Black's friend!”

“Yes! You know Sirius? That's great that's honestly great I've never been so relieved to be his friend now please let me down this has been an awful day -”

“Oh,” Severus Snape -age 11, half-blood- said. “Shut up”

Snape flicked his wand. Searing hot pain erupted around Harry's mouth; it felt like someone was threading fire through his lips.

\---

A little past midnight, a prefect helped Harry down and got rid of the spells (“Babbling Hex and a Lip Locking Curse , you don't see that everyday”)

 

The first time Harry woke up and could feel his lips, it was Christmas Morning.

 

 


End file.
